17. Saige
Saige
Iwake with a deep sense of unease; it churns within me like a stormy sea, and as the fog of restless sleep clears, I remember.
Black fire. Screaming. Armor made of mirror.
Malevron.
And Archer.
My heart is hammering; my clothes are damp with sweat. What the fuck did I just dream?
“It wasn’t a dream,” a low voice murmurs from behind me.
I startle, whipping around from where I’m sitting on the ground to find the Azkari general leaning against the windowsill of the loft. He is watching me as the others still sleep on the floor a few feet away. “What are you—How?”
“It was a memory.” He doesn’t move. He stays right where he is, his arms casually folded over his broad chest, his rings gleaming in the light from a lone flickering candle. “It was my memory.”
“How could I see it? How did you know I could see it?” I demand. Azkari mind reading was not something that was disclosed to me, and the notion has my heart pounding all over again.
“Our threads of existence are connected through our bargain.”
“So, what? We can see each other’s memories now?” The thought of this warrior having access to some of the worst moments of my life has me feeling sick, actually physically unwell. I don’t think the general would be best pleased if I threw up on him.
“When… emotions are high, strands of the Weave, and our threads get tangled, and you can be pulled into memories… The magic of it seems to be amplified by touch. About an hour ago, I came inside to sleep and when I woke, I was… I was holding your hand.”
The world tilts around me as understanding dawns on me. This isn’t the first time this has happened. I’ve seen his past before. Back in the forest I saw the moment that iron brand was put to his flesh, and how hard he fought. I had touched him then, too.
“That’s how I suspect it works anyway,” he adds. “I’ve never sealed a deal with a kiss before so I can’t be sure.”
My stomach swoops at the mention of it. It’s so easy to find myself back there wrapped in his arms, the taste of him on my lips. But I shake my head in disbelief. “Did you not think it was a bit reckless to use power you were unfamiliar with?”
“No.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Glad we got that settled. Care to tell me what I saw in that memory?”
“You saw the moment I became what I am.”
“Malevron did that to you? You didn’t have that power before?”
“I was a fire wielder before. But fire in the traditional sense—orange and red flames. It’s not something I like to talk about.”
I give him a pointed look. “You don’t like to talk about anything.”
“Correct.”
“It might help, talking about it…?” I offer quietly.
“I don’t want help,” he retorts.
“Of course you don’t,” I scoff. “Except for the whole retrieving a magical book and restoring it thing.”
His mouth twitches. “Except that. Though I’d argue it was a mutual exchange of favors.” He turns back to the window, climbing out onto the roof again. “It’s still dark out, Grayson. Get some sleep.”
Someone presses a warm, steaming mug into my hand and I could cry with gratitude as I look up to find Raven’s sympathetic grimace.
“No sleep again?” she asks, fastening her cloak around her shoulders.
I shake my head and breathe in the earthy scent drifting from my mug, closing my eyes in appreciation. “Thank you for this.”
Raven huffs a laugh. “I know better than to try and deal with you before you’ve had your morning tea.”
“Thank the Triad for that,” I murmur, sipping with a sigh of relief.
“Saige…” Raven starts cautiously. “I’m worried.”
“Worried about what?” I ask, brows furrowing.
“Why you?” Raven passes a hand over her face. “Why does the Azkari need you specifically?”
“He needs a bookbinder.”
She rolls her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. “And you’re the only one in Lorevael? Azkari included?”
“I—”
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re talented,” she rushes to add. “You’re a master, we all know that. It’s just… How many times have we been dragged through the mud because a man wanted something? How many times have you been used?”
I stare at my feet, examining the mud that has caked around my laces. “I know…”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“He’s… different.” Even as I say the words I know how pathetic they sound, like I’m grasping for something that will always be just out of my reach—smoke escaping between my fingers.
Raven smiles sadly. “They’re all different, until they’re not.”
She means well, I know it, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the scraps of joy I felt leaking from me.
“Why would an Azkari like him want a human?” Raven continues. “And why does it have to be you? I can’t lose you Saige…”
“You won’t,” I promise. What I don’t tell her is that I see myself in him.
For my whole life, I’ve tried not to be a burden, and in Archer, I see that same sense of responsibility.
It’s so much easier to see in someone else than yourself.
And it feels only natural to stretch out a hand.
I want to help him; I want him to see above the water he’s treading.
“He’s not what I expected, you know,” my friend says.
I follow her gaze to where three packs have been neatly lined up by the top of the stairs. Each one has a canteen and a bedroll strapped to it, and the Azkari in question appears, dropping a bundle of oilskin coats at our feet.
“It’s raining.” Archer says, his face gives nothing away as to where he’s been all morning.
What strikes me most about him are the imperfections as much as the beauty. How there’s a slight crookedness to his nose, how the fine lines around his eyes wrinkle as his expression shifts oh-so-subtly
“Of course it’s fucking raining,” Yevna snaps as she shuffles over to the packs. “My damn knee’s been hurting for hours.”
Archer considers her as though she has two heads. “And the two are connected?”
“Everything’s connected you great brute, do you know nothing of the Weave? Are we leaving or what?” She dons her coat without another word, and reaches for her pack—
“Yev,” I implore. “You’re not coming. You’re still injured.”
Archer takes the pack from her. “Don’t want you to break your back, old woman.”
She answers with a glare. “I’m a spring chicken compared to you, I’ll wager.”
“True. But I’m a lot less brittle.” And with that, he’s heading down the stairs.
I eye both Yevna and Raven. “I’m sorry. I can’t have you coming with us. It’s my mess, and you’ve already been dragged into it once. I can’t ask you to leave your work—”
Raven dismisses me with a wave. “Pfft, it’s about time that Whitworth she has to object. “Saige—”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. This is my decision. My bargain to uphold. Me and my mistakes have already put you through enough. I will not have my only family risking their lives alongside me because of something I did. I want a home to come back to. And both of you are that home.”
The two women exchange heavy looks, communicating in that silent way that we do. I steel myself for a fight, remembering when Raven and I were teenagers and the neighbors said our shouting with Yevna was like lightning battling thunder… but this time, Yevna gives a stiff nod.
“You’re well past needing permission, I know,” she says. “But no matter how old you are, family looks out for one another. So, you take Grim with you. No arguments.”
When it comes to Yevna, I know well enough to choose my fights wisely, so I wrap my arms around her and hug her, careful of her wounds. “Thank you.”